


A Traveller from an Antique Land

by Chessurkitty987



Series: Greater than your self [2]
Category: Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Angst, Background Character Death, Conflict, Gen, Post-Film, Post-War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-03-13 03:05:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13561401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chessurkitty987/pseuds/Chessurkitty987
Summary: Perhaps the world itself will collapse in to sand before she's finally satisfied.





	1. 1922

The walls of the prison trap any and all sounds, allowing them to run down its length before dissipating. This is how Isabel hears the visitor and accompanying guard before they even come close to her cell. By the time they come into her line of sight she’s made sure to move back, staying in the shadows cast in the cell, but when she sees who’s visiting she almost abandons that idea entirely. Almost.

 _“Is it her?”_ She thinks that Erich’s near the other side of the cell, his voice the only sound that doesn’t leave an echo. Her slight nod in reply goes unnoticed by her visitors. _“An apt disguise then.”_

She disagrees with him, but can’t say that with others present, because even wearing the unassuming clothes the other woman still appears visibly dangerous to her. Diana is what the newspapers called her. Isabel still finds it difficult to put such a human name to the creature sitting before her. Studying her, picking at the seams of the disguise to see what’s underneath is fast becoming a distraction given she’s had so little to do since her capture. Erich on the other hand seems to find greater amusement than ever in unsettling her, particularly now that she can’t retaliate. Prison, it seems, suits neither of them.

“Doctor Maru, my name is Diana Prince. May I ask you some questions?” She – Diana – is watching her just as closely as Isabel’s studying her, and for a moment she’s thrown off guard. 

“What.” For a moment she pretends that she isn’t the one trapped in a cage.

“Various intelligence agencies are looking for your notebooks, and have been for some time. I need to know where they are.”

“Which agency are you working with Miss Prince?”

“None of them.” Isabel’s silent contempt at the answer must be palpable because after a moment she continues. “I don’t believe that any agency or their government would use the contents of your notebooks for good.”

Something has changed her attitude towards the Allies since their last meeting, and even though she recognises that, she can’t pin it down to any particular event. “I thought you were on their side. They all seem to think you were.” 

“There were… things I did not realise before. They were doing things…”

 _“Their attacks at the end of the war were a result of their own developments in chemical warfare. Heartbreaking.”_ Erich sounds amused by Diana’s distress, and Isabel can’t help but share it. If breaking her is so easy, she may not need to continue her latest line of work after all.

“Chemical warfare occurred on both sides, yes. Do you really believe that you could keep my work from everyone? Prevent the development of the field for a decade or so until they do it themselves?”

“Yes.”

The certainty of her answer is surprising, and it takes Isabel a moment to respond. “You seem very sure of that. Would you not consider their use in helping people?”

Although her question holds some truth – there are things in her notebooks that could revolutionise areas of medicine if anyone paid her mind – the mockery clearly doesn’t pass by unnoticed because Diana glares, and she finds herself pinned uncomfortably by it, a reminder that she’s the one behind the bars. 

“The way mankind uses such advances is heartless and unnecessarily cruel. I seek to stop it as best as I can.”

“My work has heart. It has reason to be. It simply doesn’t align with your morality.”

“There is no morality in mindless killing- “

“And I am sure you would know about _that_ very well. Have you seen the deaths attributed to your name?” Silence follows her question.

_“Careful, Doctor. You are forgetting what she is capable of doing.”_

“I know how many are attributed to yours. That’s why you’re here.”

“Yes.” She refuses to offer further explanation; the deaths she caused during the war may be immeasurable, but they both know that isn’t the reason she’s here. The Allies can’t charge her for war crimes until they go through everyone else as well. Silence falls again, until the door at the end of the hall’s unlocked, and Isabel realises that if she wants to take advantage of the situation, she needs to do so quickly. “Will you keep my notebooks from anyone else?”

It’s Diana’s turn to be surprised, and Isabel takes some satisfaction in seeing her face is still an open book. “Of course. I promise you, for as long as they can be used I will not allow them to be.”

“Do you really think they will keep me here for that long?”

“You’re facing a life sentence for the murders you committed.”

“That isn’t what I meant.” Diana looks directly at her then, and it feels like she’s being looked through by a twisted reflection of herself. There’s the same look of contemplation for a different reason entirely. She breaks away from the gaze first, reassured that Diana can’t see her in the shadows, and catches Erich quietly laughing at her. She glares at her own lap and wishes, not for the first time, that she could stop him. 

“No. No, I suppose not.”

The guard is in the hallway now, and she can hear his steps echoing off the walls. So she moves closer to the bars, and finds Diana mirrors her until she’s out of the shadow. Then the illusion breaks as her injury’s revealed, drawing all attention, and she feels a spike of irritation at the fact that not even this woman can stop herself from openly staring. 

“My notebooks,” and suddenly the attention is on her again, “are in the safe deposit box of the landlord, at my last known address. The authorities won’t have searched it.” And he, being the type of man he was, wouldn’t have opened it; she’d put them in there weeks before her arrest once she knew she was being searched for, and hadn’t been disturbed about it, but Diana didn’t need to know such information. She draws back from the bars as the guard comes into view, sneering at the look he shoots her as Diana leaves with him.

_“Will he be the first one to die?”_

“No. He will be the only one.” The implications of her statement are rewarded with a sound of approval, and she smiles.

Two days later Isabel escapes, and her murder charges rise by one.

It takes her longer to locate Diana’s residence than it does to find herself a new one, and even longer after that to establish when she will be able to break in without being noticed. Admittedly her method may not be classed as breaking in at all, as she simply asks the landlord which apartment is the correct one and spins a simple lie to explain her presence. The rooms are surprisingly sparse, given Diana can’t be short on money after her appearances and interviews, but this works in her favour as she spies her notebooks immediately. 

“So much for keeping them from everyone else.” Her scorn doesn’t ring true, distracted as she is, but nobody’s around to notice.

 _“Has prison lessened your severity already?”_ Almost nobody.

“Be quiet.” She would never have snapped as readily if she was able to see him, but as of yet the only repercussions are the displeasure that radiates from him when she does, and an increasingly antagonistic attitude. She hasn’t asked yet if he can do her any harm, too preoccupied with her work, and then capture, to find him in the right mood. 

Stealing her notebooks – _“retrieving”_ , as Erich is quick to correct her – is as easy as gaining entrance to the apartment was, but after a moment’s consideration and against her better judgement Isabel leaves a note in their place. She doesn’t wish to be hunted down by someone so formidable, at least not yet. She has no desire to return to a cramped cell. Diana, she’s less concerned about; she spared her life once, and Isabel can’t imagine she’s changed so much not to do so again. At least not yet, but once her current line of work is complete she won’t have to concern herself with that any more. Her next port of call after the apartment is the hospital, because before she continues she requires a new mask to replace the one which was lost nearly four years ago. 

_“This is a necessity.”_ The statement is surprisingly tactful given how irate she can feel he still is, something she appreciates.

“Yes. I would rather be looked at for being recognisable, than because of this. Such things breed pity.”

_“You won’t abide it as you have before?”_

“I’m not desperate as I was before.”

_“No, you are not. You deserve more than pity.”_

Although she doesn’t reply, Isabel agrees because any recognition’s better than the pity and confinement she’s endured so far.


	2. 1937

In Vienna the streets are slowly filling with armed men and whispered opinions about what’s to come, both things familiar enough to Isabel to be concerning. She’s managed to settle here quietly, carving out two lives, one for her work and the other for her own safety. Still, like in Paris so many years ago, something’s looming on the horizon which threatens to break the balance; but unlike in Paris, she now has far too much experience to risk becoming involved in another war. Given the current state of affairs she rarely leaves her rooms and so for the first time she hears the door being broken in – the places she’s lived in her time have been ransacked more often than she could care to count, enough for her to establish a separate work space, but she’s always been fortunate enough not to be present when they were. She’s been able to run before, escape without having to face the soldiers, but now she can only duck in to the storage room, try to be quiet and hope they assume she isn’t there.

_“Trouble, Doctor?”_

“Be- be quiet.” For a moment she forgets that he can’t be heard, forgets to be quiet herself and holds her breath as she waits to see if she’s been noticed. She’s never been caught before, and doesn’t wish to find out what will happen if she is.

_“I caught you.”_

She starts a little at the answer to a statement she never made, distracted by the new possibility that’s opened up by it. The soldiers – or the men that she assumes must be soldiers – are coming closer, walking through the rooms, and that grabs her attention. When she escapes this situation she can consider as many implications as she likes, but for now at least she must remain focused.

_“Do I need to repeat myself?”_

“No, I simply didn’t realise you could read people so well.” She sounds sharper than she means to, her anxiety in conflict with her attempts to stay quiet. Erich must know he isn’t helping her concentration.

_“Perhaps I cannot. Now, why are you hiding?”_

“You know-“ Isabel cuts herself off and ducks down further as she hears the door open, one of the men briefly looking the room over before blocking her exit. She assumes he must be waiting for the others.

_“Yes, I do.”_

The reply comes from a closer place than she would expect and she forces herself to suppress a flinch at the proximity, feeling his amusement. She would be more irritated if she wasn’t becoming used to it already, and if the soldier’s presence outside wasn’t occupying her attention.

 _“You killed so many with such ease even before you were found, yet you were caught so easily. Have you ever fought a man before?”_ Isabel resists the desire to remind him that she was passed over by the Russians, and shakes her head slightly. _“Well then allow me to teach you a valuable skill. Find something sharp, quickly.”_

For once she obeys without question, recognising the anticipation in Erich’s voice for what it is; in spite of his moral codes, his views on conflict, she’s always suspected that some of his choices were made to indulge more sadistic tendencies. A knife is easy enough to find amongst the mess of stored equipment and her quiet movements go unnoticed; distraction can and will prove to be very dangerous indeed.

 _“Can you see him?”_ Erich is quieter now – for her benefit she thinks – and she nods, watching as the man scans the room again. _“Good. Wait until he turns and stab through the front of his throat as hard as you can. His own momentum will open the wound further. Understood?”_

She nods again, and in the pause while she waits for movement the implications of what she’s about to do turn over in her head. The soldier will be loud, and may bring his companions through – she’s only counted two of them moving around the other rooms, but it’s still far too many to deal with at once. If she wants to escape she must be quick, and if she wants to remain free she must make sure she isn’t followed. By the time her opportunity presents itself Isabel knows what she has to do to achieve her goal, and focuses on impressing it into her mind so that any panic will have no effect. When she’s satisfied and returns to a more present state of mind, the man’s nearby with her knife embedded in him; but he’s still alive, and to her dismay, conscious enough to try and crawl away. She watches for a beat with vague interest, old habits coming to the fore at the most inconvenient time, and thinks he should be bleeding more than he is. Then the sounds he’s making start to register, and she remembers the other men in a wave of dread. This shouldn’t have happened like this, and she can’t think of a way to solve the situation quickly enough. 

_“You understand human anatomy, do you not Doctor?”_ Erich sounds too at ease in the situation, and her first thought is that he’s finding her mistake amusing. It wouldn’t be the first time, and she feels herself scowl. _“Isabel. Grab the knife.”_

At once he is both the General, and the vicious man he was afraid the war had created. She obeys the former almost out of habit, and doesn’t allow herself to think about the latter – she will have time for that when the situation has been taken care of.

 _“Good,”_ and the praise almost makes her smile, _“now pull back and twist.”_

Later, when she’s winding through alleys to evade the other soldiers, she takes notice of the cooling spots across her face and realises that she will only ever be able to enjoy his tastes from a distance, as he did hers. Still, she doesn’t wash it off until she’s spent several hours in the quiet of her makeshift laboratory, and a few days after that she makes the breakthrough she’s been searching for. The result looks innocuous compared to some of the other experiments that surround it, easily passed over in favour of something more eye-catching, which she’s glad for. She’s burning the pages involved in its creation when Erich decides to make his presence known again.

_“What is it?”_

“Nothing.” _Everything._ It’s everything she needs to stand against the coming world, against what she understands to be a goddess, but for some reason Isabel doesn’t feel as though she can tell him that so she continues to feed pages to the fire and stares as they disappear.

 _“Doctor, what have you created?”_ He hasn’t seen the pages during his silence then, no watching over her shoulder as she works. 

That idea brings her a strange peace at first, and then a deeper sense of satisfaction as she recalls the last time they were in such a situation. She’s the one starting from a point of advantage now, and she smiles at the irony as she stands and moves to her work table, the last of the evidence destroyed. Erich can follow if he wishes, but for now at least she doesn’t care. Although she’s long moved past any phobias regarding medical equipment her face still twists a little as the needle goes in, pinching, and her hand shakes as she removes it. _That’s never happened before._ The needle’s thrown in to the fire as well, because she doesn’t have any other means to dispose of it so completely. Isabel finds herself leaning over the back of the chair, pressing down on her arms as the shaking grows worse. 

_“What was in there?”_ He’s behind her, and she wonders if he’s watching the spasms in her fingers as intensely as she is. _“Isabel- what did you do?”_

She’s never heard him sound so worried before, and thinking back to before she realises that she may have never seen him worried at all – at least not outwardly. They were always both so good at masking weaknesses from everyone else. She still is. Somewhere outside her focus she can still hear him and goes to answer until she finds that she can’t, her jaw locked in place. She cuts off her panic at the roots as best she can, breathing carefully and reminding herself that the unknown symptoms are acceptable; she could hardly test it on anyone else in case of an unintentional success, and she maintains faith in her own abilities. 

Then her legs give way, and she can’t stop her head from catching the back of the chair as they do. Her breath catches with the impact and the rhythm is gone, as out of control as her emotions are. _Panic, uncontrollable movement, pain from an injury._ The scientific part of her is as quick to categorise now as it has been in any situation, even when her life was in danger. _Pain caused by minor head injury. Pain caused by-_ by everything, because everything suddenly burns and she wishes she could turn her head to see if she accidentally caught the fire. It isn’t the worst thing she’s ever felt, but in this state she can’t think of anything else. She thinks she might be hyperventilating as her field of vision grown narrower. _Erratic breathing may cause loss of consciousness for an undetermined period of time.  
Impact injury not present._

There’s something pressing to the side of her neck as she finally falls unconscious, and the cold of it aches.

The next time Isabel comes to, she can see the remains of the fire have been put out and a note has been left on the table by the landlady – not unusual, as she frequently cleans the laboratory without question, which Isabel’s thankful for. It takes her a long moment in her half-conscious state to realise that she’s no longer lying on the floor. Not possible for the landlady to do and if she’d been found on the floor, she would have woken in hospital. Something cold brushes her face and she flinches, or tries to. She hears quiet laughter, and wishes she could turn to see its source. Then her head is turned for her, and a spark of anger forms that she can’t control her body when he can. It must show in her eyes if not on her face, because he smiles and the sight strikes her as both a familiar and unfamiliar one. _I can see you._ Her anger is muted under a burning curiosity, one she can’t sate because she can’t speak.

 _“I apologise, Doctor.”_ There’s a cold hand stroking her cheek, and Erich looks more appeased than she’s ever seen before. _“Two decades in such a state appears to have some effects.”_

She glares as the touch isn’t removed, but he simply looks down at her with a contented amusement as his other hand presses to the side of her neck again, checking her pulse she quickly realises. _“Still erratic. I wonder, how long before this takes a toll on you?”_

He’d never touched her directly, always wearing gloves, but she’s sure his skin was never as cold as this, aching the longer the contact remains. _What are you?_ She sees him smile again as her body gives in to the need for rest, for recovery, and it’s infuriating.

_“Perhaps you will discover for yourself, hmm?”_

When she finally recovers, able to move freely, he’s disappeared into silence. It’s only when she resolves not to dwell on his nature too closely that he finally begins to speak again. Isabel holds no belief in ghosts but she’s unwilling to believe that her own mind is so twisted as to create someone like him.


	3. 1946

The café Isabel sits in every day has grown busier than she would like in the past month or so, but it’s small and comfortably close to her apartment, so she does her best to ignore the noise. The people making said noise mostly ignore her in return, probably assuming that she’s another hostile local, and the real locals are used to her consistently quiet presence. In her corner, she blends into the background lull of the city and for now at least she’s perfectly content with that, almost pleased to go unnoticed as the world rebuilds for the second time this century. Her old books have been shelved for years, and the one she’s currently taking notes in is a recent purchase; nowhere near as nice, but perfectly suited for her needs.

_“The binding will come loose if you continue to do that.”_ Erich sounds distracted, but it’s at odds with his observation and she rolls her eyes.

“Just because I can’t see you doesn’t mean you are any better at hiding your behaviour.” She gets a noncommittal noise in reply, and is about to retort when she notices someone coming to a stop at her table.

“You haven’t changed.” Isabel doesn’t need to look up to picture Diana’s frown – a bizarre clash of curiosity and frustrated anger, picking it up from her tone instead. The uninvited statement almost sounds like a question.

“Neither have you.” Diana has been seen across the world in the past two years. It’s become oddly reassuring to see something so static in the world that isn’t her own reflection, even if Erich still picks away at her whenever she buys up a newspaper with the goddess on the front page.

_Be quiet, old man._ Her retort had earned her furious silence until a week ago when she woke to the smell of gas throughout her apartment. After she’d shut off the stove, opening the windows to clear the air, he snarled in her ear about growing complacent and arrogant. Isabel reminded herself why there had been such a delicate equilibrium between them when they had both been alive, and then went to reassure her neighbours that she’d simply forgotten to turn off the stove the previous night.

Now though he seems to be in better spirits, radiating satisfaction; she thinks it could well be because of the announcements coming in about the results of the trials. In spite of his understanding about why she had run again before settling here in the neutral heart of Europe, he was always primarily a soldier. First he had wanted to fight the Allied powers, then after, during the liberations, she was privy to the full extent of his feelings towards the Axis. She’d agreed quietly, and laughed loudly as the men she was able to intercept choked to death in small rooms and back alleys. _Arrogant pigs, looking to escape what you did. I couldn't._ A chair scrapes across the uneven floor as Diana sits across from her, and Isabel is dragged out of the memories.

“What happened, in your country- “

“It was never my country,” Isabel looks up sharply, a cold anger rearing its head, “I don’t have a country any more.” Diana’s alarm remoulds, becoming curiosity again, and Isabel wonders where she comes from. 

_“Nowhere we know of. A place of myth.”_ She can’t deny his point when she has no evidence, but she still feels a level of disdain at the idea.

“What they have done- what happened, is different from the last war. It cannot be forgotten.”

“The last war hasn’t been forgotten either. It’s why this one happened to begin with.” She thinks to herself, studying the other woman, that tact doesn’t suit her. Diana looks back and for a moment they simply stare. Diana looks down first.

“Your crimes will be set in proportion to this. People may look at them differently now.”

“Perhaps.” People have long memories when they lose loved ones, and Isabel still looks over her shoulder because of that knowledge. Perhaps her actions decades ago will be overshadowed for a time, but softened? She thinks not, and suspects that the other woman knows it too. 

“You could have testified, about what happened. As a scientist, your input may have been valued.” Isabel knows what a doubtful peace offering sounds like, and can’t help but laugh at the suggestion. When she looks up again from her notes, the goddess appears to be surprised at the sound.

“If I had testified, then I would have been imprisoned, and we- _I_ have no wish to go through that again.” She takes a moment to silently curse the fact that Erich follows wherever she goes, and ignores the look Diana gives her. “Besides, if you were surprised to see me in my present state, how do you think officials would react? I have no desire to become an experiment.” 

That she knows exactly what they would do to her if she was discovered goes unspoken. That she knows she would have done the same to discover what Diana was, before Erich had pushed her towards the myths she still despised, is for her knowledge alone. The woman across from her shifts, and it takes her a moment to close her notebook; nothing in it is incriminating in isolation or particularly private but the action is out of habit, because nobody else is supposed to see the contents, even written in her codes. 

“Did you come here just to talk to me?”

“No. I came here… looking for you, to see if you had been involved.”

She can’t stop her offence from showing at the accusation. “You _dare_ to think I would be involved with them? The people who would want to kill me, the mediocre bastards they employed to try and steal my work?” 

Diana appears ready to remind her of her own shortcomings, but clearly thinks better of it at the look she receives. There’s a pause, the sounds of the café creep back in around them and Isabel wonders if Diana is reminded of that spy she seemed to care for so much. For her part, she still considers his actions an insult.

“I was worried, about the possibility of your involvement. Your work continues to be years ahead of anyone else- but when I looked, I found nothing, and when I asked people here I found even less. Just the deaths of some who escaped the militaries, but- “ 

“But they are deserved. Welcomed.” Her stare challenges the goddess to disagree, and to her credit she remains silent. “Are you finished?” Her tone is sharp, but she needs to get these notes finished before returning to her apartment and the evening is approaching quickly. 

“I- yes. I will leave you to your notes, Doctor Maru.” The response sounds frustrated, but is still a concession, and she takes a moment of satisfaction in the knowledge that she can overpower a being of myth in some way. It sours a little when she doesn’t leave immediately, and Isabel forces herself not to look up from what she’s doing. 

“I thought you always meant what you said Miss Prince. Leave.” It’s the same tone she used when Erich was occasionally bull-headed and she can feel his amusement clashing with Diana’s brief displeasure; she supposes that the goddess isn’t used to such blunt commands.

“If I have reason to suspect that you are returning to your old work, you will see me. I won’t allow for such things to happen again.”

“If you notice my return to my old work, it will be because I allow you to.” 

She can be confident in this much at least, because Diana is a goddess but she still doesn’t have the knowledge that Isabel does. This is her field, and judging by the silence that meets her reply the other woman knows this all too well. When she finally looks up again, Diana is gone. She takes notes until the buzz of her surroundings subsides and the sunset begins, happy to remain immersed in what she understands to the finest details. It’s only when she begins the walk home that Erich speaks up.

_“The people there are watching you.”_

“I don’t care, let them. It isn’t an unusual thing.” She’s used to people staring at her mask, trying to picture the disfigurement underneath.

_“Your prosthetics are becoming more noticeable with time Doctor. It could cause problems.”_

“If they do, I will deal with the results when they happen. I refuse to go without them.”

_“I know that. I also understand that your disfigurement could be made less severe.”_

“Is this something you are recommending, _General_?”

_“Perhaps. It may save you trouble- “_

“No. If I wish to undo the damage I will do it myself.”

_“But will you?”_ The question comes as she closes her apartment door, and she wishes for a moment that she could shut him out as easily as she does the rest of the world. He knows what the implications of his question are.

“Perhaps, or perhaps not. I have grown used to it now.” _It reminds me of what I am._

_“That is not an answer, Doctor.”_

Isabel smiles a little at his frustration as she opens her notes and reaches for the shelved jars nearby. “True. Then the day I give you an answer can be the day you claim, in full honesty, to know who I am.”


	4. 1953

“Do you know what I heard on the way here from Dover?”

“What did you hear?” Diana sounds surprisingly unbothered by how she has been led away from the rest of the room, and Isabel would be concerned if she didn’t understand exactly why the tone is being affected. Hiding away parts of the self for the sake of lesser people isn’t a pleasant experience, and doing so under pressure is a difficult art, yet she manages it almost flawlessly.

_“You would look more alike if she scowled.”_ Isolated as he is, it seems Erich has come to hate social gatherings as much as she does and takes delight in trying to irritate her enough to leave. She clenches her jaw, and ignores him for the time being.

“Some soldiers were talking about you. Apparently, you fight for truth, justice and the _American way._ ” 

“They are American soldiers. It’s natural they would feel that way.” Diana’s contempt can’t be hidden successfully behind the carefully chosen words, and Isabel almost smiles.

“They’ve claimed you as ‘Wonder Woman’.” She watches the goddess’s face twist, just for a second; the idea of being objectified sits with both of them very poorly indeed.

_“Hypocrite.”_ She can’t ignore the jab, takes a moment just to breathe, and misses the next words shot in her direction. When she looks up, she finds them repeated with infuriating patience.

“Why are you here, Doctor?” 

“I was invited.” Diana’s eyes narrow, and she smiles coldly in return. “I may be dead, but my alias is not.”

“And who would that be?”

“I’m sure you would like to know.” _You could have figured it out had you looked at the attendance list._ Although Isabel can be subtle, she much prefers the sly amusement that comes from laughing at the ignorance of others; a trait she has come to share with Erich more strongly as time continues on without them.

_“Answer her question, before your efforts come to nothing.”_

The blunt prompt reminds her of the reason she had pulled the goddess away to begin with and she’s quick to hand her a small tin, which rattles as it’s passed over. It looks entirely innocuous in her hands, and for the moment it might as well be.

“What- “ 

“Antidotes.” And just like that Diana’s confusion changes to a hard understanding. There’s an anger in her eyes which causes Isabel’s chest to tighten, because no glass separates them now and an old instinct screams at her to _run._ She crushes it like a used capsule, and maintains eye contact. “There are enough to save most of the people here. Which ones are worth saving is up to you.”

“How long do I have?” 

_“She has done her research there, at least.”_ The comment is either admiring or deprecating, but she doesn’t really care which; her focus is still partly on Diana’s repressed anger, calculating whether it is safe to push her further. Her reply is a quiet, distracted hum and she can feel how affronted Erich is at the lack of response he’s getting from her. She can deal with him later.

“Why should I tell you? There would be no enjoyment in it.”

“There’s no enjoyment in any of this, you- “

“ _I,_ think that you should learn to embrace the views of others. It would make you a more worldly hero, as opposed to an American one.” 

She’s able to relish the brief flash of affront she sees while making her exit towards the next floor and Erich laughs alongside her, clearly satisfied with the result of her jab. 

_“A little low for you, Doctor. She will never see things the way you do.”_

“Nobody ever has,” _not even you did,_ “but if I have to stoop to such levels to make her realise the truth of humanity then so be it.” 

Looking down at the scene below she realises that Diana hasn’t moved from her spot; it could be panic, indecision or any number of things but they all lead Isabel to the same conclusion. Her moral compass may have developed, but it’s still far too simple for something like this, in spite of the second war and all it brought on the world. She can’t make the easy choice that Isabel has been making for as long as she can remember – as long as she _wishes_ to remember – about who deserves to live or die. In the minute or so that the goddess remains where she is, Isabel looks over the rest of the attendees and begins to notice symptoms in some of them. It will be too late for them now, even if Diana acts immediately.

She only starts to move when a child collapses and Isabel almost stops herself from rolling her eyes as people crowd around, preventing Diana from getting near. Meanwhile other people across the room are clearly beginning to feel the full effects of their numerous tampered drinks and she watches as the goddess begins to hand out the antidote, delegating tasks to the unaffected and quickly becoming surrounded. When some on the outskirts of the group finally collapse they go ignored by everyone else and Isabel turns away from the selfish display, heading for a balcony. 

_“You’re irritated.”_

“You’re upset.” She sounds dry enough to make his mood worsen, and she leans away a little at the wave of hostility.

_“That child is going to die.”_

“And that is _not my fault._ I’m not in control of who’s poisoned, or who receives the antidote.” Erich’s hostility doesn’t waver, but Isabel will not apologise for something she has no control over. “Her moral failings mean there will be leftover, _wasted antidotes._ Some of those ingredients- “

_“I realise how difficult obtaining them is becoming for you, Elster.”_

_Still a better name than sadistic bitch._ Isabel ignores the name, true as it may be, and grits her teeth at the biting tone. She picks and chooses her chemicals carefully, must do in order to obtain her results; if that means stealing them as they grow rarer then so be it. 

She can feel Diana’s presence behind her before she comes in to view, and this time it can’t be mistaken as anyone else. 

Erich lets out a sigh as the goddess leans on the railing on her other side, and Isabel wants to get out from between the two of them because their combined anger towards her with Diana’s sorrow is stifling. She stays silent, for fear of breathing it in in some way and for a moment the tension prickling on her skin pulls her back to her lab, to past confrontations. She isn’t the angry one this time; if she’s the one to make the first move, it will have to be incapacitating. 

“Twenty-three people have died.”

“Well then, you killed some of them. Were you not taught that indecision can cost a great deal?” In the pause between them Isabel breathes out, notices shame creeping in on Diana’s anger, and happily allows it to grow. 

“How many of- “

“No. You will live with all of their deaths.”

“You said there were only enough to save most of them.”

“And I can lie, your Highness.” The title sounds like profanity, but only because Isabel wants to impress her point on the goddess. 

She debates whether to ask for the remaining antidotes, given how difficult it had been to procure certain ingredients, but her choice is made for her as Diana moves away from the balcony with a resigned anger that Isabel knows far too personally.

“I don’t want any more deaths tonight. But, if I see you again, I _will_ turn you in and ensure you stay there.”

“And I look forward to hearing you explain my unchanged state.” She can feel Diana’s glare on her back but refuses to turn to face it, perhaps out of instinctive fear or instead out of contempt; she can’t tell which is stronger. 

_“She’s gone Doctor. What now?”_

Isabel takes a moment to consider where Diana’s actions might take her in the immediate future and grimaces at the possible answers.

“Back to Europe. Perhaps Belgium again, the authorities will not be looking for me as I am.” Prison is still a risk, but they’re both aware that the possibility of being turned in by Diana would yield infinitely more unfavourable results than being imprisoned for stealing from university professors. 

_“Change your alias. There’s a risk she will find and report it.”_

“Hmm, it’s a shame. I liked this one.” But she understands why he’s so cautious, stuck with her as he is. 

Leaving the venue is pathetically easy, although that could be attributed to the dead and slowly recovering who require attention in the main room. Isabel puts on a concerned and disturbed expression and nobody pays her any notice as she slips out the back door in to the evening. Nearly a day and a half later she makes her way to the latest ferry coming in to port at Dover with a satchel full of stolen compounds, another false name attached to her doctorate for explanation, and a dead man laughing _‘Meine Elster’_ in her ear.


	5. 1964

Isabel finds she’s rarely still, rarely unaware of where she is in relation to everything around her. Today, and all of the other days like it, she attempts to be both. There’s an absence – she can’t feel a ceramic grind whenever she moves her jaw and that in itself is freeing; removing her prosthetics can be justified since the small bathroom of her equally small apartment becomes humid and ultimately irritates any skin not allowed to breathe. 

It isn’t because she wants to forget what she is.

The water is still nearly scalding as she tries to sink further in to it, relaxing and losing all sense of where she is to the feeling. If she doesn’t know where she is, she can forget who she is now all the more easily and just drift to where memories can’t claw their way in, crying for her.

_“I thought you were working today.”_

Isabel screws her eyes shut a little more and considers telling him _exactly_ how she feels because now her efforts will have to be restarted.

_“Isabel?”_

“Go. Away.” 

_“No. Why are you doing this? You told me we were close to- “_

_“I, I_ was close,” she keeps her eyes shut and attempts a more detached tone because anger is the last thing she wants now, “and why I’m doing this is no business of anyone’s, least of all yours.”

_“I disagree. You’ve done no work, you’ve not left the apartment – you have done nothing.”_ He sounds like he’s accusing her of something criminal and underneath the affront is an edge.

She likes that she can still unnerve him on occasion.

“None of that is wrong.”

_“Isabel.”_

She recognises this tone much more readily, that of spoilt child who didn’t get his way at the galas and, less frequently, after the failed experiments. She hates it with a passion that she forcibly represses, wishing, as she tries to stay as far from herself as possible, that she could smoke like she used to before the war, before Paris. Instead she breathes and drifts as far as she can before retorting. 

“If you want to know why, figure it out yourself.” His flash of anger doesn’t seem to come from anywhere specific and Isabel doesn’t outwardly respond; if she can’t see the room, there’s no risk of knowing where he could be. Nearly fifty years of this unconventional arrangement have cursed her with such perception that by now she can’t ignore it, like she used to after the war. 

Erich will figure it out, she knows, because he’s used the knowledge against her before. Only once before, but still it isn’t something that’s easily forgotten. She decides then that later, after losing herself for a little longer, she will undertake her pilgrimage. 

Later comes more quickly than she expected and it feels like the warm weather is persistently attempting to smother her. _A graveyard shouldn’t be so warm._ But it is, and it’s been fifty years, and somewhere around her Erich continues to be as silent as he had been when they had set off, whether in understanding or out of respect she doesn’t know. There are no flowers, because they will only die, so Isabel stands with all of her memories bound up together instead. It may not hurt, and she doesn’t cry, but it _aches_ more than anything else to know that she looks nearly thirty years younger than she feels, than she is, and that she’s too selfish to change that fact now. 

She should be old now, but she isn’t.  
She should have paid for her actions, but she hasn’t.  
Perhaps she should have died back then, before the war. But she didn’t.  
She still considers her death to be too small a penance for this. 

_“Will you tell me about her?”_

Isabel remembers what Erich does with knowledge, the way he understood her pain as she did, and still does on occasion, others’: as that of test subjects, to be observed clinically. She sneers involuntarily. “No. You don’t deserve to know her.” 

Selfish again, even if sometimes she thinks that he doesn’t even deserve to know _her_ , in spite of all she’s done and how long they worked together. To his credit he responds with silence and she recalls that he must understand grief, if not this exact kind; after all, he was still loved before tragedy struck. 

_“In four years, will you visit my grave as well?”_ At first Isabel thinks that he sounds like a child, irate as she is at being pulled from her grief – she should be allowed to undertake this uninterrupted at the very least – and it takes her a moment to realise the truth of the situation. _He’s vulnerable._

“Why should I?” The question isn’t malicious so much as it is curious, because she’s never heard this kind of vulnerability from him, at least not when he’s been in full control of himself. Still, she can feel him bristle in response and when he eventually replies the admittedly just anger hasn’t entirely left his tone. 

_“I want to see them. There was never- I never saw him buried.”_ It’s as much of a genuine plea as she’s ever heard from him, because he’s tied to her in a way neither of them understand enough to break. This may be the first time he’s genuinely desperate to get away from her. 

“Perhaps, then.” It’s as much of a concession as she’s ever given him, but they both understand that she’ll honour it and she doesn’t have to hear his thanks to understand his gratitude, his relief. 

They fall into silence again quickly and Isabel entertains the notion that he’s left altogether, allowing her the space to at least fall back into the more bearable parts of her past, if not work through it. To do that, she would have to consider everything, and she tells herself that that pain isn’t worth the closure. It’s easier to shut it all away and pull out the beautiful fragments, sometimes, to admire in spite of the fact that they cause pain too, cutting her hands open as she handles them. She thinks that even considering the unbearable memories now, beyond feeling grief, would be her undoing and she hates that she’s too selfish, too scared to allow that to happen. She’s able to face down the risk of death, torture, imprisonment, but losing her mind to her own past is overwhelmingly _terrifying._

When the sounds of someone approaching manage to pierce through her grief Isabel grimaces, once again pulled out of the place that she wants to, _needs_ to be. The footsteps slow to a stop behind her and she forces herself to remain unmoving because eventually they must move on. 

“What are you doing here, Doctor?” The question is as carefully and casually posed as every other time she’s been approached. This is not every other time and her first instinct is almost overriding. 

_Do it.  
Do it, she deserves it, they deserve it, do it-_

There are eyes on the back of her head and a warmth spreads out from that point, overtaking her grief. Isabel grits her teeth, standing straight because this anger is familiar, but what the goddess has done goes beyond an affront in her mind. This place, this moment, is hers alone and shouldn’t be disrespected. It feels eerily similar to when Erich challenged her so long ago, but this is different because Diana is the _other_ where he wasn’t, blunt and naïve to the situation. At least manipulation required some small measure of tact. 

“Doctor Maru?” The hint of impatience draws something like a snarl from Erich, and the fact that he’s affronted _for_ her does nothing to dampen what she feels. 

“Why are you here?” The words feel like she’s spitting them out and she doesn’t want to talk she just wants to be _left alone._

“I need to ensure you’re not- “ 

“Don’t. Leave, now.” _You like being alive, don’t you?_ It’s a reckless thought and she doesn’t know if she could do it with what she has on her, but in her current state she can’t find the will to care and Erich remains silent as the voice of caution. 

She can sense Diana pausing, and for a moment she thinks she might be listened to; then the other woman continues on, moving closer at the same time, and Isabel bristles. 

“You need to be monitored, for the safety of- “ 

Isabel laughs at the absurdity of it, at Diana’s continuing blindness to the situation; perhaps it’s a side effect of her immortality, or upbringing, or any other number of things but the goddess simply doesn’t seem to _understand._

“Do you know what this place is? Do you understand why people come here, do you know why _you_ should leave?” 

“I have a duty to the public,” Diana’s beginning to sound more tactful, more respectful and perhaps regretful, “but I’m sorry, I understand what you must be feeling.” 

It may be a genuine apology, but it’s far too late for that now in her mind. 

“You understand like a _child_ would. What did you lose, that boy? The paid liar you fell for?” Looking over she can see the pain her words have caused, feels a deep sense of satisfaction, and the urge to cut deeper. The goddess recovers her composure before she can take the opportunity, and a disappointment curls around her in the momentary silence that follows. 

“This world took from me ever since I first encountered it… you couldn’t imagine- “ 

Isabel finds herself laughing again, almost a desperate mania, in spite of the concerned look she receives. She doesn’t care to learn the story behind Diana’s sharp response. “I think _you_ sorely lack imagination.” 

Silence, and she thinks that perhaps she’s found something that can’t be countered. 

“Who is- “ 

“The last person to ask that question is now dead.” She won’t explain her past, not to anyone, particularly not the woman who has followed her for decades; if Diana is to know, she will know only as much as research and records can give her. 

_“Technically correct, very good.”_

Erich sounds amused at her statement, and she shoots a look at where she thinks he is, just holding herself back from retorting. _Don’t you dare find amusement in this, of all things._ When she turns back she’s being stared at. 

“Who are you listening to, Doctor?” The question sounds the same as her first one, too casual, apparently forgetting the scenario in favour of something more interesting. _Childish,_ and Isabel feels like snapping because it would be so much easier than trying to maintain control. 

_Do it.  
Lash out, she deserves it-_

_Last time, what happened last time…_  
She almost flinches at the association. 

“Can you not understand ‘leave me be’? You have been the cause of enough in my life without- _this._ ” In spite of the association the words are still cutting, flowing too fast for the goddess to interject because she’s running hot with anger and grief and desperately needs some of the pressure released. “You don’t understand anything about this world and its cruelty, no matter how much you observe, because you still believe things occur for a reason. You believe in love, and fairness in the same way a child would- “ 

She cuts herself off, breathing for a moment and relishing how it feels to speak her mind. When she refocuses again, the goddess looks shocked, outraged, but she can’t find anything in her to care; then an idea forms, and she smiles. If she’s going to risk her life to speak her mind, she may as well inflict some emotional pain in the process. 

“You said some time ago, that you wanted no more death, as though you believed I had the capability to do something… drastic.” Immediately after she finishes speaking Isabel is able to relish the look of alarm on Diana’s face. 

“Doctor, if you- “ 

“I _may_ have something, for my own security. You can take the risk of killing me if you like,” She considers that perhaps she and Erich share more of a sadistic streak than she originally thought, “but my point, is that I could use it at any time. There would be no reason behind it, I wouldn’t need one, and _you_ have to understand this. Cruelty occurs regardless of the choices any of us make, regardless of the one you make now, because the ‘good of humanity’ will never outpace it. The belief that it will, is _infantile.”_ By the time she reaches her conclusion she’s snarling, the last of her built up anger and bitterness finally leaving her; all that’s left is her grief, twisting around inside her in an attempt to fill the sudden void again, and she suddenly feels tired of the goddess. 

“You’re wrong, I believe… “ 

Isabel stops listening, but the tone reinforcing the belief that Diana holds grates at her until she can’t bear to hear it; she shouldn’t have been here to begin with. 

“I don’t care. Leave.” 

“I’m not going, you just- “ 

_“Leave!”_ She hasn’t had cause to react like this in a long time, but the other woman’s persistence is frustrating, exhausting and profane in her eyes, “Go back to what you care to understand.” 

She finds she doesn’t care to watch Diana when she’s finally left in peace again. 


End file.
